But, borrowing aid of Nature, to upsoar,
And steer thy purpose, resolution-winged;
This, is to leave these suburbs for the shore,
Where Nature’s movements slide, noiselessly hinged;
The passive puppet, cooped in his poor self,
Foregoes the scope of his divinity;
Thinking he wields a little power or pelf,
And knows not, sees not, power’s sublimity:
Even, while living, such shall tamely die,
And, uncomplaining, reap their perished seeds:
But, holier, thou, stifle another’s sigh,
And steal whose sorrow disappoints his deeds:
Then shall the dark confirm the intenser light;
And the world’s woe but make the world more bright.